


Three H-BAMF drabbles (and a bonus one)

by therealfroggy



Category: A-Team (2010)
Genre: Foursome - M/M/M/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 10:11:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealfroggy/pseuds/therealfroggy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three drabbles written for a kink meme at LiveJournal, all of them featuring my favourite ship H-BAMF (Hannibal/BA/Murdock/Face). Short and (hopefully) steamy! The drabbles are called <i>Planning</i>, <i>Need</i> and <i>Kitchen</i>.</p><p>Then there's a sweet, non-smutty one at the end, for romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three H-BAMF drabbles (and a bonus one)

**Planning**  
“So,” Hannibal growled around his cigar, are we all clear? No questions?”

“Sorry, sir, I wasn't paying attention. I don't think I understood a single word you were saying,” Murdock said blithely, staring off into space. He had his crazy-face on.

Hannibal sighed. “I don't see that it matters, H.M. Your part in this is very simple. It wouldn't actually alter the plan very much if you did absolutely nothing.”

“I know,” Murdock said, directing his certifiably insane grin towards his colonel. “But I want to hear you explain the plan again. With the cigar, please.”

Face and B.A. grinned at each other, then at Hannibal. They were no less eager than the pilot to hear Hannibal recount his plan in that deep, growly voice, but they left it to Murdock to do the actual asking. Hannibal could never say no to Murdock's barely-sane requests.

Hannibal smirked slightly. “Alright, I can do that.” He pulled once on his cigar, exhaled, and clamped the roll of tobacco back between his teeth.

“B.A., you'll be our bulwark. You'll have to take the force of our combined movements, so I'm thinking you'll want to brace back against something, probably the wall. On your knees to get maximum leverage.

“H.M., you're back to front with Baraccus, and that's all. I know how you get; you only stay right where B.A. puts you and hold on for the ride. In a manner of speaking.”

Manly sniggers all around for that one, except for Murdock, who only gave a little giggle.

“Now, Face, you play double. Should be easy; it's your kind of game. You're between Murdock and myself. I'll be our... driving force, and I've got your back, kid. Should be a piece of the proverbial cake.”

Half an hour later, B.A. groaned with desperation as he thrust into Murdock's indecently tight body. The pilot was moaning unrestrainedly, bucking minutely on the darker man's cock and writhing between the broad chest and the strong arms that held him. Murdock couldn't speak or think or even breathe; he was busy not fainting from pleasure as he was torn between the feeling of B.A. fucking him and the feeling of Face _sucking_ him. The only thing holding Murdock together were B.A's arms, like steel bands around his waist holding him upright. For once he didn't say a word, only writhed and moaned.

Face looked up from where he was sucking his friend off, the edges of his eyes crinkling in a grin. He was on hands and knees in front of Murdock, sucking enthusiastically while his body was rocked by the rhythmic thrusts that moved them all. Face purred around Murdock's dick and tilted his head for a better angle. He was on his knees, being used in every way imaginable, and he loved it. Nothing made Face hotter than servicing several men at once.

Hannibal's strong flanks flexed and rippled with the effort as he thrust into his lieutenant, his large hands gripping the slender hips convulsively. He could see everything; Face's smooth skin as he bent low to tongue Murdock's balls, B.A's face scrunched up with the effort of not coming yet, how Murdock's abdomen twitched whenever Face sucked a little harder. Hannibal could hear all the obscene sounds they were making, taste the sex on the air, and nobody was left out. This was why Hannibal was always the man with the plan.

“God damn,” he growled, lips clamped around his cigar, “I fucking _love it_ when a plan comes together!”

 

 **Need**  
Hannibal was the man with the plan, and his ever-present control was legendary. He seemed to be three steps ahead of everyone, had a back-up plan for every contingency, and he never lost his cool. New recruits used to stare at him in awe, his name a byword even in basic training camps. As the leader of his team of _soldiers of fortune_ he enjoyed the same cred, the same admiration, from a different clientèle. Hannibal was top dog in every respect.

Which was why he loved his team so much for knowing different.

They knew that when the burden of leadership got a little strenuous to bear, he needed something different from the awed admiration. They knew that when Hannibal's jaw was tight with tension, when his shoulders were set just so, Hannibal didn't need or want to be looked to for guidance or authority. They knew what he needed, then, and they gave it to him.

The first time it had been a bit of a struggle. Hannibal hadn't understood what he needed, and when BA gave it to him, he'd fought back, at first. Then something had gone slack inside of him and he'd surrendered completely. Since then it'd been something of a joint venture; Face and Murdock happily joining in and doing their bit.

In a manner of speaking.

“Murdock, hand me the slick,” Face murmured, barely lifting his lips from where he'd been busy biting Hannibal's neck. The colonel was face-down on the bed and his XO was busy marking and roughing up his neck.

They were all naked, except for one of Murdock's ridiculous hats. He refused to take it off, and nobody bothered to argue. BA wore a simple gold chain around his neck. All other articles of clothing, decoration or protection had been banished. They weren't needed.

Hannibal grit his teeth when he felt the cold lube on his entrance, not making a sound. Then Face's agile fingers followed, spreading it around and working Hannibal open. They didn't spend much time on preparation; Hannibal didn't need that and his team knew it instinctively.

This, _this_ was what he needed, Hannibal thought with a groan as Face began pushing into him barely stretched and still pressed down into the ratty old duvet. Hannibal needed the lack of control, the feeling of being helpless beneath his subordinates, of not having to take charge. He needed them to just fuck the tension out of him, roughly and dominantly. He didn't want them to be gentle, and they knew that, too. He could take it. He _wanted_ to take it.

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” Face grunted, one of his arms across Hannibal's shoulders holding him down. The younger man began fucking forwards into his colonel, mercilessly hard and deep. Face's eyes rolled back in his skull and he took what he wanted, what Hannibal needed him to take, without hesitation. There was no need to pretend, not about anything.

“So tight,” Face moaned, pushing down and in at the same time. “Ah, shit! Yeah, that's it, take it, Hannibal!”

Face had a penchant for dirty talk and Hannibal didn't mind; the younger man was forcing him to react, forcing Hannibal to do as he said, and then perfect, white teeth found his shoulder and bit down until the skin broke. Hannibal groaned in pleasure.

Within minutes, Face was panting and gasping and struggling to maintain his composure. He raised himself up on his hands so he could watch where they were joined; the sight of his dick entering the colonel's body sent him over the edge and Face cried out as he came, pulsing and pushing deep into Hannibal. He pulled out and slapped Hannibal's flank playfully, then staggered off the bed, going to take a seat in the recliner in the corner.

“BA.”

Hannibal raised himself to one elbow, bracing himself on his forearm. He needed the support; he knew what being claimed by BA did to him.

“Still fucking ready,” BA murmured into Hannibal's skin, nipping his way from his shoulder to his ear. “You're still slick and open from Face, boss.”

Hannibal closed his eyes tightly, fighting against the rush of arousal that followed BA's dark voice. He held himself perfectly still, waiting for the large man to do what he did best.

And BA grabbed Hannibal's hips, forcing him up to his knees, and held him mercilessly still while he drove himself into the colonel's battered body.

Hannibal couldn't contain the rush of air leaving his lungs. BA was fucking _huge_ ; Face was nothing to scoff at but the dark man's cock was at the very limits of what Hannibal could take without considerable pain. As it was, there was a burn and a stretch and Hannibal couldn't really breathe while BA was fucking him.

There were bruises forming on his hips, he just knew it. He couldn't move an inch, held in place by large hands and a fucking _pole_ in his ass. Hannibal's painfully hard dick was bobbing in time with BA's thrusts, but Hannibal knew better than to try and touch himself. He would be allowed to come when his boys had given him all they had. They would give him what he needed, as they always did.

“C'mon, ask for it,” BA demanded, thrusting harder and making Hannibal see stars. “What you want, boss?”

“Harder,” Hannibal gasped, fingers clenching in the duvet. “BA! Harder!”

And BA roared, head thrown back, and came, thrusting so hard it hurt and Hannibal groaned in a heady mixture of pain and lust. Fuck, yeah. Just like that.

When BA pulled himself out, it actually hurt a little more and Hannibal buried his face in the rumpled bedding, willing himself to stay still until they finished him off.

“Flip 'm over?” Murdock said from somewhere behind Hannibal, the pilot's voice rough with desire. Murdock never did it like the other two; he didn't want to hold Hannibal down – said he couldn't focus enough. But he loved for the other two to help him.

Strong hands grabbed Hannibal's upper arms, manhandling him until he was on his back, and then Face was sitting against the headboard, holding Hannibal's arms down over his head. His slender legs were stretched to either side of Hannibal and the colonel could smell the sex on him. He couldn't move an inch.

Then Murdock was over him, a wild look in his eyes, dick hard and red between Hannibal's spread thighs. BA was whispering something in Murdock's ear, eyes locked with Hannibal's. The pilot groaned and shifted forwards, took himself in hand and positioned himself.

“Lift his legs.”

It was Face's soft voice, but BA was the one who complied, spreading Hannibal's legs wider and hoisting one of them onto Murdock's shoulder. Then there was a brief moment of fumbling, and Hannibal gasped as he was filled again, this time by his crazy captain.

“Hannibal,” Murdock said, voice hoarse and shaky. “Look at me, boss.”

Hannibal could do nothing but obey. Between Face holding his hands and arms immobile, BA crowding behind Murdock, and the pilot himself buried deep inside his body, Hannibal could only think of how much he loved his team. And how much fucking heat flared through his body when Murdock began thrusting, erratically and out of control.

Murdock was loud. He moaned and babbled, leaning his full weight on Hannibal's leg and making the colonel's joints protest at the rough treatment. He didn't pay them any attention. Murdock's wide-eyed gaze was locked to his, and the captain was telling him how they had him, how they'd take care of him, how Hannibal _had no choice_...

Then Murdock backhanded Hannibal hard across the face and stiffened, his body shivering as he came, releasing Hannibal's name on a high, keening note. The slightly crazy pilot sank down over Hannibal, shuddering and gasping, and Hannibal groaned when they were finally chest to chest, the heat of Murdock overwhelming.

“Please,” he croaked, voice rough from sex and lack of use.

In a heartbeat, they were on him; Murdock pulled out and moved up to kiss him gently, Face released his arms and the conman's fingers were buried in his hair in a loving caress, and then BA's wonderful, excruciatingly big hands were on him and it only took a few strokes before Hannibal groaned long and low in his throat, his come streaking his skin as BA milked him through his climax.

They lay in a shuddering, sweaty heap for a few moments, savouring the aftermath and trying to catch their breaths. Then Hannibal reached a hand out and fumbled around the bedside table until he found his cigar. Face produced a lighter from somewhere and when the familiar scent of cigar smoke was filling the room once more, Hannibal cleared his throat.

“Thanks, boys. I needed that.”

Murdock grinned down at him, looking a little embarrassed and a lot happy. “We love you too, Bossman.”

His boys. They always knew just what he needed.

 

 **Kitchen**  
“Mind you, I can hardly blaaaame them,  
these are probably the worst pies in Looooondooon...”

Face hummed along with the CD player as he tied the apron strings behind his back. Not exactly manly, but there was only the one apron in the safehouse and there was no way Templeton Peck was getting cake batter on his best shorts. He caught sight of his reflection in the darkening kitchen window and grinned. If BA could see him now, the other man would have a fit. Hannibal, too. Murdock would probably fight him for the apron.

The other men were out gathering supplies and intel. Face had been excused from the excursion when he insisted he'd do their laundry while they were gone; it was a lie, of course, but he'd needed to get them out of the way so he could bake them their surprise cake. It was Face's way of thanking his team mates for the whole flu thing; he'd been pretty much incapacitated for a week and they'd not only taken care of him – making hot broths, fetching glasses of water and Advil – but they'd let him live it down without any commentary on what a burden he was, too.

So Face was baking the team a cake. He'd found a recipe online; next to it were pictures of a three-tiered, glorious affair including chocolate, cream cheese and much too much sugar. He'd gone around to the neighbours and scammed himself all the ingredients (the little old lady next door thought he was just the sweetest, baking his sickly mother a birthday cake), and now that the rest of the team were gone for at least an hour, Face was ready to start his cooking career off with a bang.

Alright, so he'd never baked a cake in his life, but how hard could it be? He had a list of everything that should go in; it couldn't possibly be more advanced than one of Hannibal's things.

 _Three cups of flour._ Cups? Well, Face got a coffee cup out of the cupboard and filled it with flour. He dumped the flour into a bowl and repeated the process twice. There. But surely he couldn't put the sugar in the same cup as the flour? That would compromise the integrity of the ingredients. Or something. Face decided to use a clean cup for the next ingredient; it seemed more sanitary. So he got another cup out of the cupboard and filled it with sugar, dumping that, too, into the bowl.

When he was done throwing all the ingredients into the bowl, it looked suspiciously full and Face frowned. Wasn't he supposed to put everything in at once? Well, he'd only printed the list of ingredients and it couldn't possibly matter as long as he got the right amount of each. He grabbed a tablespoon and began stirring it enthusiastically.

Three minutes later and the batter was not much more than lumps of flour in a sugary, thin fluid. The egg yolks refused to blend with the rest, and Face's arms were getting tired of all the stirring. Did people honestly stir cake batter by hand? Wasn't there some machine to do this?

Face put the bowl and spoon down and began going through cupboards. He found several devices he didn't know the function of, as well as a French toaster and a water boiler. He put the three most promising ones on the counter top.

_Well, which one do I use?_

Face looked at all three. They were... completely foreign-looking to him. Finally, he realized the centre one was a blender. He'd seen a blender; Sosa used to make her morning sludge shake in one. And what he wanted to do, was blend the ingredients, right? Yes. He'd got it right this time.

With a smile, Face carried the blender to the table and plugged it in. The wire was just long enough, fortunately. He got the bowl of ingredients and poured it all into the blender, using the spoon to dig the rest of it out. The blender was barely big enough to hold it all, but it had worked with the bowl. Face wasn't worried. He used the spoon to stuff everything a little tighter together, and was just giving it an extra shove when he remembered – wasn't there something he was supposed to do that would take some time?

The oven. He knew that, at least; the oven took some time heating up, as Murdock so frequently complained when BA wanted his dinner five minutes ago. Face turned around and set the thing to 500 degrees; a nice, round number. Then he supposed he'd need a tin or something to bake it in; he couldn't have a cake in the shape of a blender container.

He absently flicked the switch on the blender while he wondered what he could use as cake tins, then frowned when the blender only made a plaintive, whirring noise and nothing happened. What, hadn't he put the force on high enough? Face frowned, then turned the little wheel on the side to full throttle.

**Schwloop!**

There was an absurd sound as if a whole marsh had inverted itself, and then a loud bang, accompanied by a rain of blue sparks from the blender. The batter exploded up out of the blender, unhindered by the lack of a lid, and spattered the entire kitchen in blobs of flour, sugar and egg yolk.

Face opened his eyes, blinking sluggishly through the batter that was clogging up his vision, and swore, loudly and creatively.

“Fucking ass-ridden, penguin-infested dickwad blender!”

“I'd ask where you learned that phrase, but somehow I think necessity is the mother of ability here.”

Face lifted his gaze to find Hannibal standing in the doorway, a bemused smirk on the colonel's lips. Murdock and BA were staring over his shoulders, Murdock with wide-eyed horror on his face and BA was a shit-eating grin.

“I do, however, have two questions,” Hannibal continued. “Why are you naked behind that incredibly cute, frilly, _pink_ apron, and why is there cake batter on the _ceilling_?”

Face looked up. There was indeed a goodly amount of batter on the ceiling, just above the blender. A blob of it loosened as Face stared at it and fell, only to land with a wet _sploff_ right in front of Face's feet.

“I'm not naked,” was all Face could say. “I'm wearing shorts.”

Hannibal began chuckling. By the time BA and Murdock joined in, Hannibal was laughing so hard he could barely stand. The colonel was shaking with laughter, a hand on BA's shoulder holding him upright when he doubled over in laughter. BA was guffawing, too, and Murdock giggling disconcertingly. Face looked down at himself, found that every inch of him was covered in cake batter, and he couldn't help but laugh right along.

“This is the last time I'm baking you a surprise thank-you-cake,” Face muttered, removing the apron and throwing it to the table in exasperation. “Next time, I'll just get you a six-pack and a box of Cubans.”

“Oh, I don't know, Face, I think it looks delicious,” Hannibal said, and stepped over the blob of batter to kiss Face briefly on the lips. Then he began kissing down his throat – no, Face realized, not kissing, _eating_. BA gave an appreciative sound and came over to join his boss, lifting one of Face's arms to nibble along it.

“It ain't no curry coconut tapenade,” BA said, “but it'll do.”

Murdock gave a happy grin and jumped right over to begin eating batter off of Face's chest. “I can help you next time, Facey.”

Face grinned. “Sure. Hey, guys, do you think batter works as lube?”

“Bad idea, Face,” Hannibal said, his voice muffled into Face's shoulder blades. Then he spun Face around, pushed the blender to the floor, and bent his lieutenant backwards over the table until he had no choice but to lie down on it. “Boys?”

And Face's laughter turned breathless and husky as his team mates and boss began removing every last ounce of batter from his skin – with their mouths. His legs hanging off the edge of the table, he could only moan when Murdock picked up his foot and began nibbling on his big toe. BA was licking broad stripes up his ribs, stopping when he reached his nipple to clean off every last grain of sugar. Hannibal dipped his head to kiss Face again, licking into the younger man's mouth.

Face tasted the badly mixed batter on the colonel's tongue and moaned. Then Hannibal picked a chunk of chocolate off his collar bone and offered it to him, grinning when Face licked at the older man's fingers.

“Boss?” Face pleaded, writhing under the dual sensations of Murdock and BA eating at his skin – or off it, as it were.

“Thanks for the cake, kid,” Hannibal said, and reached past BA's eagerly occupied mouth to dip a hand into Face's – miraculously – batter-free shorts. When the calloused hand closed around his erection, Face moaned loudly and his legs twitched.

Murdock chose that particular moment to begin biting at the inside of Face's thigh, and the conman barely lasted two minutes after that, reaching a shuddering climax with Hannibal's hand on his cock and BA's mouth on his nipple. The taste of cake batter was still in his mouth when Murdock stole a kiss, swallowing Face's hoarse shout.

“Never knew this fool could taste that good,” BA grinned, looking at his boss with a question in his eyes.

“I always thought you were delicious, Face,” Murdock chirped in, then licked his fingers clean. “Better than a real cake.”

“Much better,” Hannibal agreed. “Now what do you boys say we get this kitchen cleaned up? I have a strong urge to see Face on his knees, up to his elbows in hot, soapy water... wearing that apron.”

Face grinned tiredly up at his colonel. “The pink frilly one, boss?”

“And nothing else. Come on, hop to. I want every inch of this kitchen sparkling clean.”

“Yes, sir,” Face said, letting his gaze grow heated, and Hannibal groaned and dove in for another kiss.

It took them all night, but the kitchen was clean come morning. As were the four men who slept in an exhausted heap in the master bedroom that night; every last ounce of cake batter was gone. BA was the only one who complained about having eaten too much of it the next day.

 

 **Domesticity**  
“Faceman, where are all my fun shirts?”

“Uh, check the clothes line out back, buddy. I didn't want to tumble dry them, I think the prints could come off.”

“Thanks, Facey, you're the best!”

Murdock planted a big smacker of a kiss on Face's cheek and skipped out of the room. Face could hear him whistling all the way down the hall. The conman poured powder into the washing machine with a smile. His friend really took to this domesticated life a lot better than he'd expected.

Not that he'd expected said domestication at all. Face had believed, when he'd gotten that key from Charissa and they'd broken out of a prison transport while it was still moving (and quite spectacular it had been, too), that they would head straight for the jungles of South America or the industrious cities of East Asia or something similar. He'd expected that they'd be fugitives for a while and then reassess their situation when the military had time to cool off.

But Hannibal had looked at them all with this insane glint in his eyes and declared that he refused to be chased out of his own country like that. They were American soldiers, dammit, and they'd fought for their government. The fact that said government wanted to throw them all in the federal slammer for ten to fifteen years, apparently did nothing to dissuade him. And Face had to admit he, too, was reluctant to leave the country just because someone was chasing them. He didn't deal too well with threats. He preferred to confront his opponent rather than evade him.

BA didn't want to fly anywhere, and Murdock had always wanted a place of his own. Well, their own, but still. Something not belonging to the military. And when Face had come across this sweet little place in a quiet, old-fashioned neighbourhood, a medium-sized house with an honest-to-God white picket fence along the curb, the deal was done.

They were hiding in plain sight, right under the military's very noses. In a scammed house in the quietest part of a quiet suburb just outside LA. In a white house with a little porch stretching along two sides of it, a neat little garage with a driveway, and a god damned picket fence separating the front lawn from the sidewalk. It was absurd. It was charming.

It was driving Face nuts on laundry day, since he was the only one who had managed to work out the mystery of the washing machine.

The others had offered to do the laundry, but Face didn't trust them with his shirts. Where Hannibal was concerned, he didn't even trust the man with his white tennis socks. Hannibal had turned a white laundry load pink four times before admitting he could not work the magic machine (though, the last time, Murdock had purposefully put a red sock in the pocket of BA's white sweatshirt because he swore the big guy would look great in pink. Hannibal had still not figured out how the hell white fabric magically turned pink when there were no red clothes in there). Murdock did the cooking, so Face didn't feel it was fair to ask him to do laundry, too. And upon realizing that clothing needed to be washed, BA had instantly offered to do everything else so long as he didn't have to touch that “fool machine”.

Face would rather do laundry and go crazy over missing socks than mow the lawn. And fix leaking sinks. And clean the grease traps under the sinks. So BA did all those things and Face washed the sergeant's clothes. Fair enough.

But none of those things made him grit his teeth any less as he found one of the socks was missing. Again. Damn, where did those things get to? There were two when he put them in the hamper! And this particular kind of footwear didn't exactly escape unnoticed, either; they were Murdock's Road Runner socks. Murdock's bright yellow Road Runner socks.

Which he loved. Damn. Face sighed; now he'd have to go back to whichever-Mart and get Murdock another pair. He just knew how the pilot would look at him if he didn't find both of those socks when next he checked the sock drawer. There would be big, wide eyes. A quivering lower lip. A small, desolate sigh as Murdock told him it was okay, he could just wear the Superman socks today...

Face put the clothes in the machine, pressed the start button and headed back into the hall. “BA? Hey, you in here?”

“Right here, fool,” BA grumbled. He was seated at the kitchen table, tinkering with the blender. Face had complained that morning that it didn't blend properly; his fruit-and-yoghurt smoothie was lumpy. And since today was laundry day...

“Can I take the van? I need to go to the store,” Face said, admiring the care with which BA removed little screws from the tiny blender engine. Or whatever one called the bit that made the blender function. It was damn impressive, anyway, those big hands working with such accuracy on such small things.

“What, right now?” BA said, sounding hesitant. “I dunno, Faceman...”

“Come on, you know I'd never be careless with your va- your baby,” Face said soothingly. “It's for Murdock. I need to replace one of his socks before he notices; you know how he gets when his cartoon stuff disappears.”

BA's scowl softened slightly. “Yeah, okay. Nah, wait. I'll come with. I need a break anyway.”

“Great,” Face said, going for the fridge. “Do we need anything? We could pick up some more wholegrain bread for Hannibal, I think he ate the last of it for breakfast...”

“Boss, we goin' to the store!” BA yelled down the hall. “You need anythin'?”

“Wholegrain bread,” Hannibal yelled back. He was occupied with something in the den. “And Vaseline!”

Face grinned, then exchanged a knowing look with BA. “You sure, boss? I thought that massage oil worked just fine,” Face called.

Hannibal appeared in the doorway to the kitchen then, looking grumpy and ruffled. His shirt was creased, his hair sticking up at odd places. “For the squeaky hinges and stuck drawers around here,” he said, scowling at Face. “The stuff BA uses for the van doesn't work. Why does everything have to be about sex with you, kid?”

Face laughed. “Fine, fine, I'll get your Vaseline for you. Extra big tin, then?”

“Size queen,” Hannibal muttered, going back to his den. “Murdock! Did you take the screwdriver?”

Face followed BA out into the van and got into the passenger seat; Hannibal's seat. It somehow still felt like he was treading the thin line between right and wrong when he sat in that seat, and Face liked it. He liked it so much, in fact, that sometimes he got randy and tried sitting there when Hannibal was already in that seat.

At which point BA always protested. Blowjobs in his van? Yes, but only if the man giving them swallowed every last drop. Frottage in his front seat? Not a chance in hell. The upholstery, man, have some respect for the upholstery!

Face grinned. He loved BA's upholstery.

The store where he'd gotten Murdock the Road Runner socks was a ten minute drive from their suburban hide-out, and BA spent the time listening to his ghetto music, as Hannibal jokingly called it, and nodding slowly in time with it. Hannibal called it ghetto music because all the lyrics were about driving slowly around the less fortunate areas of town, picking up scantily clad girls, or beating up rival gang members. Those were his exact words.

Face silently agreed, but was a wiser man than Hannibal in that he didn't say anything. Especially not where BA could hear. Murdock, of course, loved the lyrics. BA had liked that Murdock loved them, until that time Murdock had borrowed some of BA's gold, gotten himself a baseball cap with silver trimmings and made confusing hand gestures at BA. The word ´bro` had come up.

Murdock hadn't tried that again, either.

Pulling into the parking lot of the supermarket, BA made some disparaging comments about all the suburb dwellers who couldn't drive their SUVs, and Face remarked that he'd like to own the Chevy that was parked right outside the entrance. They parked and went inside, Face grabbing a trolley and BA glancing surreptitiously around for any potential threats.

“Juice?” Face requested, and BA headed off and came back with Face's preferred brand of apple juice, as well as more milk than could possibly be good for anyone. Face was trying to decide between volumising and highlight-targeting conditioner when BA came striding up to him and muttered, “Potential threat, ten o'clock. She been staring at you since we came in, Faceman.”

Face looked up discreetly, trying to see the woman BA was referring to. Could it be one of Charissa's new minions? Or one of the army's? Damn, not now! Not when they'd found the perfect place; not when Murdock needed his damn Road Runner socks! Face glanced sidelong up in the direction BA had indicated.

The potential threat, however, turned out to be a middle-aged woman in stilettos, skin-tight white jeans and a leopard patterned tank top. Her hair was bleached to the point of utter destruction and if it hadn't been for the obviously fake breasts and Botox-youthful face, you would have thought she was in her mid-twenties.

Face turned back to BA with a shudder. “Chill, BA, she's just checking out my ass. Just watch.”

And he pretended to drop the volumising conditioner so he could bend over to pick it up. He could just about hear her ovaries rattling at him from across the vegetables.

“Let's get out of cougar town,” Face said with a grin as he put the highlight-targeting conditioner in the trolley and the other one back on the shelf. “What else do we need?”

After having filled their trolley and located Murdock's socks (“Thank God. If we'd had to drive to another one of these places, I think my brain would have imploded.”), Face went to the cash register to pay while BA lurked around the other end of the till, ready to bag their groceries. The sergeant had never taken well to other people going through his stuff, even if it was just the kid in the green apron waiting to bag up his milk and vegetables. And a scowl from BA scared that kid witless anyway, so no one ever protested when BA grabbed the brown paper bags with a determined look.

“Wait, I have a coupon for that,” Face said, suddenly remembering the morning paper which Murdock had lovingly cut into while quoting proverbs about saving and not wanting. He reached into his breast pocket and handed over a slip of paper granting him the precious gift of one free carton of milk per two purchased.

The girl behind the counter just about fainted as she accepted it.

Leaving the store, they secured the bags in the back of the van with a sort of strapping system Hannibal had devised as soon as it became clear that BA did not appreciate his precious milk ending up all over his precious interior.

“We're home,” Face called into the hallway as he and BA manhandled their shopping through the door some ten minutes later. “Hannibal, I got your Vaseline!”

“Face, have you seen my Road Runner socks?”

Face grinned at BA, and BA actually kind of smirked back. “Yeah, they're in the washer, buddy. You'll get them as soon as they're dry.”

Hannibal stuck his head out into the hallway again. “Face, Murdock's talking about putting window cleaner in the dessert again. Can't you talk to him?”

“Why don't _you_ talk to him?” Face said, annoyed. “I've just been oogled in the supermarket to get you your damn wholegrain.”

“Well, I'm kind of busy here, kid,” Hannibal snapped. “Trying to fix the lamp _you_ broke when you threw it off the desk.”

“Yeah, well, who was fucking whom on that desk when that lamp was broken, Hannibal?”

“Fine, fine, I'll do it,” BA grumbled, pushing Face in the direction of the kitchen, arms still loaded with groceries. “You two's like a pair of kids sometimes. Murdock! Come down here.”

At least there was no window cleaner mousse for dessert that day.


End file.
